


What We're Fighting For

by thegirlwholoveshorror



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blizzards & Snowstorms, F/F, F/M, Forbidden Love, Jealous Sam Winchester, Judgment, M/M, Pagan Gods, Pining Sam Winchester, Priest Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 22:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16206524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwholoveshorror/pseuds/thegirlwholoveshorror
Summary: I suck at summaries.





	What We're Fighting For

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for the cliché about the sky falling... I just think that it's a beautiful expression!

**January 19 th 1999**

###### I.

CHAROHNA, OH

“The sky is falling, but you mustn't fear it, Sam,” said Dean from within the little wooden church.

They stood in a church surrounded by a city in ruins and by a tall fence of barbed wire.

“How can you be so calm at a time like this? The sky will fall on us, and we'll die when it hits us—meteors and satellites, nitrogen and all kinds of toxins... It will be the death of us!” exclaimed Sam, his long arms flailing out and about in the air around him.

“Then it shall fall on us,” said Dean, “but it will not kill us,”

“How can you say that? We're definitely going to die!”

“Have a little _faith_ ,”

“And what reasoning do you have? I just don't-”

“I won't let it, okay?”

“You're not making any sense here, Dean,” exasperated Sam.

“There's a good chance that we'll survive this, Sam,” dreadfully replied Dean, his nerves on edge; but all ** _cool exterior..._**

Sam thought to himself how typical it was of Dean to act so tough and strong on the outside at a moment like this when on the inside, he had to be scared, and maybe even weak and fragile in ways that Sam couldn't help but love equally. Regardless of how, for Sam, Dean was like an angel... _And for the love of all carbon and water, did Sam love Dean..._ He loved his eyes, his hair, his lips, his body, the curve of his jaw, his mind, his **_hands..._**

 

###### II.

 

“There are two gods at work here: the God of the sky and the God of war. I know a guy who knows a guy, okay?” said Dean as he filled his duffel with weapons. “It's this whole religious thing. I'll spare you the details. Promise me however that, when the sky opens, the daylight goes away, and all the elements begin to fall to the Earth's surface, you'll be by my side. Without you, I can't survive: I need you with me in this fight. I need you to have my back. Together, we can stop this from happening; we can save the world, or at least what's left of it,”

“Okay,” Sam stepped over and took Dean's hands in his. “I'm sorry if I lost my temper,” he said, shaking his head in an attempt to relieve his dismay and disbelief. “It's just hard to believe that we could be able to survive this, and I can't bear the thought of ever _losing_ you,”

“ _Stop it_ ,” snipped Dean, pulling his hands away and walking away to one of the windows of the church, to look outside at the storm raging on.

“What?” asked Sam. He glowered for several long seconds, seemingly insulted and disbelieving that he should have to undergo such a reaction to his declaration of appreciation for him. It was more than he had bargained for, and, to be honest, he was still confused by the reaction.

“Quit the chick flick moments!” quickly spoke up Dean as he walked back in his direction, only to pick up his jacket off a church bench nearby from where he stood, at the front of the church. Swiftly, he slipped it on over his shoulders. Although there was a fireplace in the church, burning bright and hot with logs and the only source of lighting in the church, casting warm orange and red tones on everything, it was still very chilly.

 

###### III.

“I'm still in love with you, Dean,”

“I said quit it, Sam!” cried Dean, turning his back to Sam, “I thought _**we were over**_ this,”

“Why are you fighting this, Dean?”

“Are you really asking me this, Sam? It's isn't normal. It's selfish and totally mucked up,”

“It's not!” hoarsely cried Sam. “Have you forgotten how it was before? We were together; we were in love-”

“Forget yesterday, Sam. I took an oath before God to stay true, and what you're asking of me exceeds that, and I don't want it anymore,”

A moment's quiet passed. “Is this about Castiel?”

“You've got to be the biggest asshole on the planet, Sam. Shut your mouth!”

Sam used his power and pushed the priest back into the wall, pinning him against it.

“He's filling your head with lies, Dean!”

Trying to pull himself as far away as he could from Sam, Dean yelled, “Don't you dare say his name! Don't you dare talk about him like that!”

“Dean-”

“ _Get out!_ Get out! Get out! **GET OUT**!”

Sam's eyes filled with tears. “I didn't come here for a fight, Dean,” as he released the power of his hold off Dean and took a step back.

“Get out. I don't want to see your face right now,” said Dean, fuming and livid with rage over his inconsiderate, barbaric brother.

Sam gasped at the harshness of his tone of voice. Without another moment to spare, he stumbled out the side-door of the church and into the storm, the bitter freezing wind cutting him to the bone and making his whole body shiver. After only a few steps though, he realized that his strength was waning, as he now remembered that he hadn't eaten in over 72 hours or slept in over 48 hours, and the weatherly conditions were a mess outside... Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out of small flask of whiskey and took large gulps of it before continuing his way.

Sam, looking frightened and shivering, his teeth chattering but his eyes open wide despite that his face was face was purple with cold, knew that there was no going back now; and he knew that he needed to find shelter and fast or he would die of hypothermia as it was a _**terrible night.**_

 

###### VI.

 

As Sam made his way through the woods at the back of the church, there wasn't much he could see as there was a storm roaring around and the hour was verging on midnight, but he saw smoke in the distance coming out of the chimney of a house, down and over the hills, in a central valley area where what should be a ghost town lay, past the cemeteries where their townsfolk now rested six feet under.

Stumbling in its direction, he walked for hours and knocked on doors and rang doorbells, until finally his body temperature dropped so low that he collapsed against a random house's door. With not enough whiskey in his flask to keep him artificially warm or comfortable, he passed out, but not before basking in bright white light as his back hit the ground when the door behind him opened, the beautiful faces of none other but Joanna Beth Harvelle and her mother, Ellen Harvelle, peering down at him with glowing red eyes.

He reached for Joanna and ran trembling fingers along her right ankle, as if to make sure that she was really there and not just a figment of his imagination, as he was on the verge of losing consciousness from the cold and exhaustion.

_Then he felt the pain as he was but-struck by the end of a rifle..._

At the sight of the rifle coming down on him, Sam barely had a fraction of a moment to think to himself, terribly sad and shocked but deliriously happy to be found before he died in such a way, in the cold and after a fight with Dean, _Why does my life have to hurt so much?_ _  
_

**Author's Note:**

> Part of this little work of fiction is loosely based off the story _The Little Match Girl_ by Danish poet and author Hans Christian Andersen. When I was a little girl, I had a book of his short stories: beautifully tragic, dark yet timeless readings...  
>   
>  __  
>  **Thanks for reading anyway!**  
>   
> 


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